


When you can't use your hands

by Blue_Capricorn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Desperation, Desperation Play, Humiliation kink, Ice Play, Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Medical Kink, Military Kink, Mutual Pining, Small Penis, Watersports, john worships sherlocks small penis, what can i say
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-05 13:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17326169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Capricorn/pseuds/Blue_Capricorn
Summary: With both arms broken, Sherlock is suddenly very dependent on John, and is absolutely horrified with the fact that John has to help him with everyday tasks that his transport might need a hand with (pun intended)





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock bit his lip. 

He had to use the toilet. Desperately. Badly. Urgently. It's been twelve hours now, and his bladder was starting to rebel. Sherlock murmured to himself hurriedly as he kept pacing the kitchen, and nervously twitched his fingers in the air. He had to do something, now. 

He briefly glanced at John, seated on the couch, watching telly with his long forgotten tea sitting next to the table, his legs were stretched out, revealing the sandy skin of his calves. Sherlock shifted his gaze to the bathroom door and dismissed the thought of asking John to help him undo his trousers and tuck him out. 

It was too humiliating to think what John would think of him if he saw Sherlock lose control over his transport right in front of his eyes. Everything would have been for nothing! Sherlock's been trying to constantly improve their friendship, in hope to make progress on said topic to be one day so close to John Watson that the man himself wouldn't deem it necessary to have a girlfriend anymore. But now with two broken arms, and the inconvenient fact that he can't even pee without any help, it looked like his plans needed more time and consideration.

Without warning, his bladder spasmed again and Sherlock immediately crossed his legs and tightly squeezed his penis. Oh god he needed to pee! He wouldn't be able to hold it for much longer! 

Think, think, think!

John-

No option! 

Perhaps- 

"Sherlock? What in heaven's name are you-", John turned off the tv and immediately went to the kitchen to see what his flatmate was up to. "Doing?" 

Sherlock's face flushed when John eyed him up and down as if he might get a better clue of his whereabouts, and Sherlock - being in a too desperate state - couldn't stop himself from fidgeting right under John's nose. 

To his dismay, John suddenly crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows at him as if to say 'really?'. 

He cleared his throat.

"Right. This has to stop, Sherlock. I'm a doctor and your friend, I thought we both agreed that I'd be the one to help you," John said calmly as he turned towards the counter, pouring himself another cup of tea. "But clearly, you'd rather neglect yourself than to ask me for help." 

Sherlock snapped his eyes wide open at the sound of water hitting porcelain, horrified, he felt his bladder tense up and his underwear started clinging to him. Sherlock instinctively wanted to take hold of his crotch to stop anything from further escaping, but realised with a jolt that his arms were not up for that task. He instead recrossed his legs awkwardly, trying to pinch his cock between his thighs and wiggling his hips in a circle.

He could hold it back, he just had to turn off the sound of-

Oh god. 

He couldn't. 

John made an obscene show of filling the cup with water, he poured the liquid, slowly, with an approximately ten inch wide gap, while humming to himself carelessly as the cup filled. Sherlock whined as he felt more pee escape into his expensive pants. 

"God, ngh John, stop it! I have to pee! I have to pee!," Sherlock pleaded distressed, he couldn't squeeze himself tightly enough to stop the next few drops from sipping into his pants. He desperately had to go. He needed to pee! 

"John!"

As if on cue, John abruptly stopped and put his tea aside, facing the detective with a strange expression, his eyes went dark.

\---JW POV---

Something unexpected was happening to John Watson. His heartbeat suddenly raced with excitement and it set off some deeply buried feelings within him. Seeing the great Sherlock Holmes, all flushed up and desperate to pee, was not something he thought he'd ever witness. The fact that the man wasn't even able to grab himself with his hands, only inflamed John's hunger to see the detective so helpless and needy. 

"JOHN!" 

The doctor snapped out of his daze, when Sherlock's voice rang through his ears all high pitched and desperate. He focused his eyes on the detective dancing around the table. 

"Alright, Sherlock. I heard you the first time, if you have to take a piss then just bloody go!," John snapped heatedly, hoping he sounded somewhat composed. 

Sherlock in return seemed to struggle to reply properly when he suddenly gasped out and shut his eyes in an effort of holding his bladder back. He rocked his hips forward, his voice was strangled, "God John, don't be an idiot, you must - nghh - help....me." 

John stared at Sherlock's crotch, thinking he spotted a little wet spot on the front. He took a deep breath and tried not to think about how the detective was on the verge of sullying one of his finest dress pants. To say that this sight was getting a bit too overwhelming for John Watson, would be a vast understatement. 

John stiffly walked towards the bathroom, opening the door, and waiting for Sherlock to follow behind. 

However, it appeared that his flatmate was unable to move. 

Frozen behind the table, Sherlock crossed his legs once again, trying to control himself. He stared helplessly at John and the bathroom. "Oh god, John, I can't...Can't move. I'm going to pee, I can't hold it. I'm about to pee!" 

It was obvious to John that Sherlock tried to frantically hold himself between his thighs, but blatantly failed to do so. He must be so desperate that his cock was either flopping anywhere but around his thighs, or it was just hard to reach it, John mused. Well, he'd never seen Sherlock's penis, so he couldn't say for sure. 

Sherlock started rocking his hips, "Ngh, John! Hold me! I have to piss, I have to piss!" 

God, how desperate he was getting. John found the sight, for lack of a better word, utterly delicious. 

The doctor forced himself to push his arousal aside. If he had his way with the madman, he would have leaned against the door and watched Sherlock lose control over his bladder, he would have watched him as he helplessly started pissing himself in the middle of the kitchen, wetting his expensive dress pants and destroying them in the process. 

John cleared his throat and stared at Sherlock's crotch. "Well, you great git, uncross your legs if you expect me to hold you!" He thought it best to appear passive aggressive, in hope of overshadowing his excitement for the situation. 

Sherlock seemed reluctant to open his legs, he breathed distressed, "The fly. Open the fly of my trousers first, John! Make it quick! Oh god, please, I have to pee!" The detective was completely flushed, when John bowed down and tried to pull the zipper of his pants down. 

John's hands felt shaky and cool, and he realised that Sherlock's penis was just a garment away from him. He licked his lips when the fine material in front of him was finally unzipped. 

Sherlock unfolded his legs, gasping, trying to stand still for John. 

It was now or never. John breathed when he put his hand through the open fly and grabbed Sherlock Holmes' spurting penis, guiding it carefully out of his underwear until John had it safely out of his pants. His hand was immediately wet when the tip of Sherlock's cock brushed against the front of his hand. John quickly put his hand around it, and tightly held the overheated flesh, staring at it. He often wondered what Sherlock was packing, and was not surprised to note that his penis was quite small, with a pale skin that was flushed pink, and a lovely foreskin that stretched over the head. 

"Oh god! Your hand is fucking cold John.," Sherlock complained, his poor cock felt as if it was being squeezed by ice. John felt it twitch and shrivel in his hand, and muttered sorry as he watched it become even smaller in his fist.

"Stop thinking. I need...to...pee.," Sherlock panted, as more pee gathered on the tip of his lovely cock. 

Without really thinking about it, John tightened his hold and firmly pinched the foreskin with his thumb and forefinger, determined to stop any urine from escaping. John pulled Sherlock's cock along with him to get him to the bathroom, it felt much like he was dragging a dog on a leash behind him. 

Sherlock groaned painfully when he was forced to move, and simultaneously expected to control his overfull bladder. With his pants half undone and his cock out, he awkwardly managed to enter the bathroom. However, when he saw the toilet, he couldn't hold it anymore, it was just too much. His self control over his transport completely slipped out of his grasp, and to his humiliation, he helplessly started pissing the floor. 

They stood two meters away from the toilet, when John suddenly felt a steady stream leave Sherlock's penis. 

Oh no, John thought disapprovingly, he did not give him the permission to let go here! 

John squeezed the foreskin even tighter between his fingers, making Sherlock gasp, "Don't you dare, Sherlock!" He growled, "You will pee when I tell you to!" And with that he pulled Sherlock closer to the loo, tugging at his cock. The tip of his leaking penis filled up like a balloon. 

"I'm peeing! Let me piss John! Let me piss!" 

Sherlock chanted his name, unable to think about anything else but that he needed to pee. 

"John, John! John!" 

The good doctor finally pointed his despreate cock towards the toilet, and let his hand caress the little balloon forming on the tip. He relaxed his grip without further word and finally let Sherlock pee. 

The detective panted in relief and closed his eyes, barely believing that he was finally, finally peeing. He was so distracted and embarrassed that he didn't notice John playing with his numb and gushing cock. 

John enjoyed the sight of Sherlock pissing with such urgency, it was wonderful to feel how his pee flowed out of his little penis, it was wonderful to hold his cock while he let go, it was wonderful to watch how Sherlock lost control. John just loved it so much that he started petting the sensitive member. 

He felt the softness of the shaft and the veins on the underside, and moved his fingers further up to lightly pat his thumb around Sherlock's long foreskin, suppressing the ridiculous urge to pinch it close again, and watch his urine spray everywhere. 

The streaming sound of the warm liquid hitting the surface in the porcelain bowl, slowly became lighter until finally the last few drops trailed down. John gently shook his member once Sherlock was done, and let go. 

Sherlock cleared his throat, staring at the floor, too embarrassed to look John in the eye. 

"Thank you, John. Do you, um, mind if you tuck me back in?" 

John stared at Sherlock's soft, fully exposed penis, feeling confused what just happened. He kneeled down without further word and put Sherlock's shrivelled member back into his trousers. When he was done he pulled the fly up and left Sherlock alone in the bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No despreation in this chapter, but something else ...
> 
> Includes Sherlock's military kink

Sherlock was sulking. 

He hadn't planned to lose control like that. John probably thought of him as ridiculous now. 

He needed a cigarette. 

He needed a case.

He needed distraction. 

Of course he'd deleted the incident as best as he could, only saving the image of John holding his penis, which he carefully filed up in his mind palace. 

Sherlock requested John to do the same. Delete that was. Only he didn't say much to Sherlock after he disappeared upstairs. Clearly, the doctor was uncomfortable with the whole situation and as Sherlock deduced, he wasn't up to help Sherlock with his transport's needs after all. 

Fine, Sherlock could see his point. It was all fine. 

Only that it wasn't. 

 

Sherlock paced with a pen in his mouth. He needed to message Mycroft that he required after all some professional assistance that would help him with the tedious, inconvenient tasks. 

Four weeks.

Four weeks until the bones in his arms healed. 29 more days until he'd be rid of the gypsum. 9 more weeks until John Watson decided to forget what had happened. 18 more weeks until Sherlock could get back to his plan to convince John that he didn't need girlfriends. 

Sherlock huffed exhausted. 

It was all his transport's fault. 

 

His phone was on the table and Sherlock leaned down, methodically typing a message to his annoying brother. 

 

Send me an assistance.  
-SH 

 

Not a moment went by before his phone pinged. 

 

Ah, already?  
I see, the doctor must have had enough of your whims then. 

Two assistants will come by in about 30 minutes, try not to scare them away, Sherlock.  
I mean it, I do not have time for your childish tantrums.  
-MH

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

 

Eat your cake, fatty.  
-SH 

 

He turned away, and flung himself into his chair. 

He was bored! 

He couldn't do anything of use. His activities were limited to an obnoxiously high degree. No violin, no chemicals, no microscope, no scientific research, no wall shooting. 

No interesting cases. 

No John doing things for him. 

His stomach unwillingly clenched. 

Sherlock had been looking toward to John helping him through the day; John feeding him, John brushing his teeth, John buttoning and unbuttoning his shirts, John checking on him, just, John being there. 

He stared longingly at John's chair. He had the sudden urge to smell said chair, to breathe some of John's scent. Sherlock kneeled down and pressed his face into the cozy material, deeply inhaling the fragrance. 

He was glad that John barely ever used any perfumes, he didn't need such a trivial thing. John Watson already was the best scent himself. He was earthy and spicy, he was fresh soap and new oak wood, brown suger and earl gray tea, and when he was sweating, he smelled irresistible.

 

"What in the world are you doing, Sherlock?" 

Startled to have been caught, Sherlock snapped his head up, finding John fondly gazing back at him. 

The detective blinked twice, when he noticed that John had changed his trousers. Why did he change his trousers? There wasn't any reason to do so. 

Sherlock frowned. 

John was in a good mood too.

"You alright? Thought we'd have a cup of tea, yes?"

John almost smiled at him and went to the kitchen, assumingly, making them both tea. 

Curious. 

 

The door bell rang, and Sherlock heard how Mrs. Hudson let the assistants in. 

He dreaded them already. 

They would only annoy him and disturb 221b's domestic, chaotic air. They would constantly remind him that John was too uncomfortable, too repulsed to help Sherlock like that. 

The detective sat back in his chair, tensely staring at John moving around in the kitchen. 

 

"Woohu, Sherlock! Your two helpers have arrived! I thought you might be a bit of a handful for John alone to handle, dearie." 

Sherlock pursed his lips, and ignored his house keeper. John halted and looked confused, when 'the helpers' walked into their flat, greeting them. 

Stupid! 

"Um, you must be Mr. Holmes then. I'm Belinda and this is Atticus. Your brother, Mr. Mycroft Holmes, suggested you can choose whoever you prefer from the two of us. We'd be pleased to help you with anything that you'd need help and support with, 24 hours that is. We're very glad to make your daily routine easier for you!" 

High pitched annoying voice. Tedious. 

Sherlock scoffed, not bothering to look at either of them. 

John approached them, turning to his flatmate with a frown. "What? Sherlock, I thought I told you that I don't mind helping you," his voice was irritated. John wasn't pleased about the assistants. 

Sherlock closed his eyes.

"Don't worry, John. It's fine. I've calculated the circumstances, and it's all....fine."

"Fine! You great git, I took this month off of work for you, Sherlock!" 

Ah, John wasn't pleased, at all. 

Perhaps Sherlock had underestimated the circumstances? 

He flickered his eyes to the strangers, "Out." 

 

John crossed his arms, and waited until the people were out, before he faced Sherlock. His good mood gone. 

"What the hell, Sherlock?" 

The detective swallowed, straightening his back, he blinked at John, analysing the situation. 

John didn't want someone else to replace him. He wanted to care for Sherlock. Theory: He didn't mind the incident in the bathroom too much. John being professional. Of course, John was a doctor, he cared for transports and their inconvenient urges. Fact: John was terribly, wonderfully caring. Conclusion: No assistants were needed. Just John.

His heart fluttered.

"A miscalculation on my part. Won't happen again," Sherlock tried brightly, hoping for John to return to his happy mood. 

"And I wouldn't mind having a good sip of tea," Sherlock added, when John was still not reacting.

 

\------ JW POV ----------

John was not having it. 

"Sherlock, did you think that I....that I wouldn't help you through the day? That I don't care enough? Because I do, you idiot," John said, "Besides you'd make all the assistants cry." 

They stared at one another, air tense, when suddenly John and Sherlock shared a laugh. 

The detective looked endearingly ridiculous, with his disheveled hair and oddly matched clothes. Sherlock insisted that he had to wear his dressing gown over the gypsum, wanting to hide them a bit, which in turn made his arms appear gigantic. Sherlock's thin face gained some colour from laughing, it reminded the doctor that he needed to drink something.

John thought of the tea and went back to the kitchen.

His flatmate needed more fluid, he wasn't drinking enough. The thought suddenly brought up the image of Sherlock pissing uncontrollably, and the way he had leant against John all flustered and exhausted with his little cock in his hand. 

He felt a bit guilty that he hadn't even attempted to 'delete' it yet, when Sherlock asked him so humbly. John was very conflicted with what happened and how it had affected him so...unexpectedly. His mind wasn't clear after the incident, because the first thing he did was go upstairs and wank himself off to the image of his desperate flatmate in mind. 

He could have face palmed himself, afterwards.

The doctor had some sense to realise that this was a bit not good. Thinking about his best friend like that and pondering over the mental images of the incident over and over wasn't the best idea. He felt almost embarrassed.

Almost. 

If it wasn't for the fact that he enjoyed it so much, having seen Sherlock's self composure slip to such an extreme level; how he had needed his help so desperately, and how he had begged his name with such need. And John was even allowed to hold him and see him how he lost control. 

He licked his lips.

Later, he had consulted with his inner and more professional side that, perhaps, someone else should look after the madman and help him with everyday things. But then he considered the fact that this was Sherlock, and Sherlock would hate to be surrounded and helped by some strangers - not to mention - John would too. 

 

When the two assistants had walked in a few moments ago, and John had seen Sherlock's tense face observing him, he knew that this wasn't right, that Sherlock had called them because he thought John didn't want to deal with him and his bodily restrictions again.

 

He recalled their earlier conversation, when Sherlock had been just released from hospital and asked him if he could possibly help him with his 'tedious' transport. 

Of course, John had said yes, and he was a bit dumbstruck with how vulnerable Sherlock had looked when he opened the car door for him and proceeded to put the seat belt around his slim body. John remembered how he had to suppress the urge to hug his friend right here and then with the promise that it was all fine. 

And now? John was here anticipating Sherlock's next visit for the loo! 

He wasn't sure if it was all fine, after all. 

He suddenly felt very hot. 

John finished making tea, he dumped the tea bags in the trash, and proceeded to carry a generous cup to Sherlock. He noticed how the detective was watching him, stretched out, with his tight pyjama pants clinging to his legs. His crotch showed no buldge whatsoever, and John quickly reverted his eyes, trying to suppress visualising that lovely cock tucked behind those pants. 

John wondered if Sherlock's penis was still shrivelled or if it had recovered again. 

Well, it's been a couple of hours since John had last had his cold hands around it, he supposed it must be at its normal size again. 

Or small size, he thought heatedly. 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him as if trying to read his mind. John focused his eyes on the steam escaping the hot cup, speaking, "I'll try to cool it a bit down for you, mind that it's your favourite," John blew into the hot liquid a few times until deciding that it shouldn't be too hot anymore. 

He leaned a bit down and brought the cup to Sherlock's mouth, making sure that the cup was properly placed between his lips, before he continued to heave it up a bit. 

"Careful."

As if in a trance, Sherlock gulped down the liquid, and John was satisfied to feel the cup getting lighter in his hand. Sherlock must have been thirsty, he realised worriedly. John shouldn't have disappeared for so long. 

He was a doctor for god's sake! He ought to be more responsible, especially when it came to his irresponsible friend! 

Sherlock suddenly stopped and leaned away from the tea, intenting to be more mindful on how much liquid he'd like to have in his body. 

John checked the cup and saw it being almost empty, he moved it back to Sherlock, determined to make him drink more. The detective stared unimpressed at the cup in his hand, "It's enough for now, John. My transport doesn't require a lot of liquid." 

The heck it did! 

"Sherlock, drink this. And don't make me force you, I know that you haven't nearly drunk enough today." 

Sherlock looked uneasy at the cup of tea, and decided to better not make John Watson fret over him. He drank the rest of the liquid up, and hoped that John would be satisfied with his minimal drinking habits for the day. 

Oh, how wrong he was. 

 

John hurried to the kitchen and refilled the cup again, wanting to ensure himself that his patient drank enough, he felt guilty for neglecting his duties like that. Sherlock must drink more. 

His doctor mod was switched on, on full force. 

John saw that the detective was anything but happy to see him approaching with the next cup. He turned his head away in childish refusal. John pursed his lips, "Sherlock, drink. Your body needs water to stay healthy. You need to drink." 

Before Sherlock could repeat his ridiculous 'not my transport' comment, John growled at him, "Don't even bother, Sherlock! Just get it over with!" 

The genius opened and closed his mouth, trying to find some way out. 

"Sherlock!" 

"You can't force me, John." 

"Jesus! Just bloody drink it!" 

The cup was pressed against Sherlock's lips. The detective decided to be clever about it and took a little sip, before leaning away once more. 

"There. I drank it, John. Now let me be." 

John was starting to get furious, and shook his head, glaring at Sherlock and the cup. "Stop it, Sherlock! I've seen how you gulped down that first cup! You need more water, damn it!" 

Sherlock and John watched suddenly in horror as John's hand started to shake, making the liquid in the cup spill over and land on Sherlock's pants. 

Right on his crotch. 

Oh god! 

Sherlock managed to just stifle a shirk, and abruptly sprang out of his chair, while John hastily put the tea aside and turned to Sherlock, pulling his pants and underwear down to avoid any further burning. 

The doctor in him woke up, full force.

Thankfully, the sight of his penis showed no severe burns, but rather a bright pink spot on the top of the shaft. 

John breathed relieved, and hurried to fetch something cold to soothe the area a bit. He wouldn't forgive himself if there was any serious damage. He opened the fridge and grabbed the packaged peas, quickly turning to the bathroom to get a towel, before returning to Sherlock, who was nervously twitching around with his legs. 

"Sit down, Sherlock. I'll have a better look, before I'll put this on you, okay?" 

Sherlock didn't answer, but rather sat down, and silently allowed him to examine him. John kneeled down and swept his gaze over Sherlock's exposed penis, briefly checking if his testicles showed any sign of distress, before looking back at the flushed spot on the shaft. It was turning red. 

John wrapped the peas in a towel and without warning, put it against Sherlock's bits. 

The detective jerked at the cold, accidentally knocking the ice away. John moved it back and faltered a split moment of the sight of his lovely cock. It was shrivelling again.

Oh god, he needed to get a grip on himself! He didn't know why he liked Sherlock's little one so much, it wasn't even that impressive by any means. 

But John never cared about modern standards, did he?

He cleared his throat and went back to the bathroom, looking for the hydrocortisone cream to put on Sherlock later. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. This day was really getting a bit overwhelming for him.

He really hoped Sherlock's bits weren't too traumatised. 

John went to the living room, stumbling over his words as he tried to apologise, "Sherlock. I'm sorry, I really am sorry. It wasn't- ..I mean-...I never meant to..It was an accident." 

Sherlock with his legs spread and the ice between them, only mumbled, "Obviously." He seemed to struggle to sit still, and looked altogether far too uncomfortable in his chair. 

"Um, right. How about I'll put the ice away now and we'll go to your bedroom. Alright?" 

Sherlock groaned, and stopped John before he could move the ice away. "Must you really, John? As if this isn't already humiliating enough for me!" 

Oh. 

So, Sherlock Holmes was after all self conscious about his little cock, John realised. 

What a shame, he thought.

"I'll tie your dressing gown to cover you up, yes?," John suggested. He licked his lips, slightly disappointed that he wouldn't get an immediate glimpse of him. 

Sherlock nodded.

Like he said, he dutifully tied the dressing gown around his waist, making sure that it covered Sherlock's groin and finally moved the frozen peas off of him. 

They went to Sherlock's bedroom, and John straightened the bed, making it more comfortable for Sherlock to lay on. The detective eyed the cream that John was holding, while laying down on the bed, not realising that his dressing gown was slightly parting during this process. 

"I'd like you wait approximately 10 more minutes, John, or if possible 15 more minutes. I'd prefer to be left alone at the moment," Sherlock said, not noticing John's stare. 

Because John actually stared. 

Stared at what he'd just seen. 

John wanted to crawl to the bed, expose Sherlock and just warm him up. His penis was so vulnerable, so small, and so tiny now, he wanted to have a better look at it, and watch it twitch in the warm air. 

Maybe he could change Sherlock's mind. 

"Actually, it'd be better for you if I put the cream on you now, Sherlock. It soothes immediately, surely-"

"John! 10 minutes, 600 seconds!," Sherlock interrupted, mortified that John wasn't getting the message. He needed more time, his penis needed more time. 

"Right," John walked out of the room, wondering if Sherlock would notice it if he appeared just a minute or two earlier later. 

He decided in the meantime to do some washing up. 

 

\------------SH POV ------------

 

As if this day wasn't already tedious enough! 

Sherlock's penis itched and burned, the clothing irritated his skin. He shuffled a bit to fling the garment off of him, gasping relieved when his numb cock was breathing some air again. 

He risked a glance downwards. 

He furrowed his eyebrows. 

Normally, Sherlock wasn't self conscious about his transport, but the thought of John seeing him this small, concerned him. He had to warm himself up. 540 seconds left, before the possibility arised that John entered the room. 

Think, think, think! 

Options: 1) masturbation, 2) radiator, 3) nil 

Choose 1) with the high risk of being aroused when John came back  
Choose 2) with the risk of burning himself further and John questioning him  
Choose 3) with high risk of still being...small 

538 seconds left. 

Further possibilities? 

4) masturbate near the radiator, gently. 

Option choosen: 4) 

537 seconds left. 

Sherlock sprang up and went to the radiator next to his bed, checking the temperature. 

15°C. 

Perfect. 

Risk of burning: eliminated. 

Sherlock kneeled down, making it easier to press himself against the radiator. He carefully moved his hips to the side, caressing himself against the warm source. He tried to nudge his tip and his testicles against the radiator, hissing at the sensation. 

Less pressure. Too sensitive. 

Arousing thought was needed.

495 seconds left.

John. 

The feel of John's hand on him. 

John's commanding voice. 

John's disapproval..

Captain John Watson disapproving of this.. 

"Soldier! What is the meaning of this! Stop it this instant!" 

Sherlock rubbed himself more urgently, not stopping or slowing down a bit. 

Captain Watson growled at him, "How dare you disobey my orders!" He suddenly felt his left cheek being slapped. 

"I'll have you whipped and tied up, Holmes! How dare you rub yourself on that radiator, making it all dirty!" 

He felt himself whine, wanting to finish before the Captain pulled him away. He felt himself twitch against the warmth and rubbed his tip between the grooves of the radiator, finally having found a good spot. 

He stifled a moan with great difficulty. 

The Captain leaned next to him, watching him desperately stroke his vulnerable penis, chuckling, "What a small cock you have! How endearing! I might take a picture of it!" 

Sherlock was flustered at being so humiliated. His cock hardened. 

A whine escaped his throat.

210 seconds left! 

Fantasy must end.

 

He rubbed the head of his cock once more against the radiator, gritting his teeth at the oversensitivity, his penis flushed bright red. 

He forced himself to pull away. 

His legs were wobbly when he tried to stand up, and move back to the bed. 

193 seconds left. 

Sherlock was harshly breathing when he was in his bed again with his cock pointing at the ceiling. 

170 seconds left. 

His penis must be flaccid, John shouldn't see him like that. 

Optionally.

He intently thought of the ice on his cock, and how unbearable it had felt. 

150 seconds and the door snapped open. 

 

\-----JW POV------

 

John was worried. 

Or so he told himself when he kept hearing noises from Sherlock's room. He bursted into the room after waiting 8 long minutes. 

The first thing John noticed was Sherlock's flushed body, the second thing he noticed was the dishevelled state of his bed sheets. 

John's mind halted.

Sherlock immediately crossed his legs, shielding the state of his member from John's gaze. He cleared his throat, cheeks pink, "I should have had 150 seconds more, John! Your timing is atrociously inconvenient," Sherlock moaned in embarrassment.

Did Sherlock..? Did his flatmate indulge in such 'tedious' habits as masturbation? 

John blinked at him speechless. 

A tense silence stretched the room, John clutched the tube of the creme in his hand, while Sherlock cursed his transport. 

"Right, sorry," John was a bit nervous for some reason, "um, shall we or should I leave you to..?," he held up the creme and waited. 

Sherlock stared at it blankly and nodded. He uncrossed his legs when John sat down on the bed. 

John concentrated on the healing creme, putting a bit on the tip of his finger, and feeling the coolness of the transparent liquid. He tried not to think about the fact that he'd be touching Sherlock again. 

John initially prepared himself for the coming task as he turned to the man and checked his cock. 

Jesus! 

It was flaming red! The top of the shaft was flushed crimson, and the rest of him was bright red as if it had been furiously rubbed or something. John forced himself to not comment on it and instead put some more hydrocortisone on his hand, rubbing it into his hands. 

He eyed the half hard cock as he carefully applied the cream on the shaft, paying special attention on the dark spot, and feeling the hot skin, it felt so small and dainty and vulnerable in his hand, it strangely made John happy. Sherlock gasped and jerked his hips away.

"Alright?" 

"Fine," the detective gritted. 

"Right, um, we're almost finished here anyways, just let me get the rest on you," John still had cream left on his hand, and decided to smear the last bits on Sherlock's flushed balls. 

The detective had large, smooth, rounded testicles, and John had to restrain himself from squeezing them. They felt so full and heavy, when the doctor subtlety weighted them in his palm.

It was just lovely. 

"Oh.." 

"Sorry," John said, removing his hand and putting a more professional facade on, tearing his gaze away from Sherlock's twitching member. 

Sherlock had the side of his face smashed on the pillow, still looking flustered. 

John cleared his throat, "Well then, I'll make dinner, yes? I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything..." 

"Obviously." 

 

The doctor lingered for a moment longer, before he stood up and left the room, washing his hands to make them dinner. 

John did NOT think about anything.  
And he most certainly did NOT think about his flatmate's bits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope some of you enjoyed this chapter as well! 
> 
> Thanks for your comments - I love them !
> 
> I promise next chapter our detective will be all despreate and needy again ;))))


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